


Fixed point

by imaginationandheartbreak (alexgrey)



Series: Tumblr prompts [5]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: American Psycho, F/M, Mattex, argument, make-up sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexgrey/pseuds/imaginationandheartbreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex lets her body flatten on the floor so Matt can fit himself along the full length of her body, so they can kiss without him unbalancing, so she can feel him hard and present and sorry and promising on top of her: her Matt, her Bateman.  His hand releases her wrist, finally satisfied that she’s not going anywhere, and now both Matt’s hands are in her hair and his kiss is extraordinary, his tongue strong and artful, making her feel like he’s already fucking her, fucking the sadness out of her, her cunt already too empty and she cries into his mouth and finally, finally, allows her own hands to fist into his shirt, pulling him to her and grinding her hips against him.</p>
<p> ”Want?” he pants.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Me, too… so fucking much. So fucking long…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixed point

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Can you fix your ficlet where Matt was so awful to Alex after his show? Please?
> 
> This piece combines two prompts - The original ficlet was about Matt and Alex meeting at American Psycho, written in February. The first part is horrid. The second part fix-it written in April... NSFW-ish.

It’s an area of London she has always loved a little bit, truthfully… walking past the creamy buildings, Bentleys out front, High St. with a decent bakery. But God, she’d also thought Islington was so boring when she was at RADA… a horrid, stale kind of life. But now? Things change.

 Alex walked with purpose toward the Almeida, ticket in hand.  Ticket? God… yes… an actual ticket. She’d thought about calling Matt, just asking to be put on a guest list, but somehow it seemed too forward… there was a distance between them that she’d invited, cultivated even, and now, well, it was coming back to bite.  The show had been sold out and it had been forever since she’d had to get tickets to anything and she’d finally had to call her agent to do it.  She was only in town two nights and was hardly going to moon around the stage door without actually seeing him sing.

 Sing? She gathered. God, he was lovely and brave. She’d seen the publicity stills, too, and had marveled at his body – how could that also be him? – before settling her gaze on his eyes… last, late… a bit scandalous, maybe, to be so fixed on the smooth skin of his stomach, imagining herself kneeling in front of him, looking up, pressing a hot kiss to his thigh, her reaching hand… that she had almost skipped his face altogether.

 Shaking her head she rounds the bend to the Upper St. and presses on toward the theatre. What did she want? Him.  So simple.  And so disastrously complicated.  She. Wanted.  And it would be a disaster because she’d already told him no. Absolutely no.  It would have been a very hot and very glorious fuck, but her heart had betrayed her cunt and she’d said… no.  Not even just no, but absolutely, shut-the-door no.  How do you shut a door and lock it?  By saying any two of these things, in any combination: ‘grow up’, ‘you only think you do’,  ‘yes, I’ve had better offers. Even just this morning’,  ‘that kiss meant nothing. We’re actors, ’ ‘No, I don’t feel it.’  Fuck.  She’d said all of them. Another beautiful, perfectly-executed plan, Alex.  Be careful of what you wish for, she thinks, adjusting her bra and smiling, in spite of herself, when the theatre itself comes into view.

 Anything can happen in live theatre. The Almeida is tiny, really, she thinks – and it’s exactly what she loves: audience so close to the stage you can see them in certain lights.  She ducks immediately into the bar, left of the front doors, orders a large glass of Ravenswood and just plants herself, back to the crowd and it’s ridiculous, but her breath is already speeding up and she’s nervous like she’s the one about to go on stage.  Bloody hell. She tries to nurse the drink but the theatre is so tiny they still haven’t opened the doors with 15 minutes to go so she orders another. Finally the doors open and she gets inside, front row (note: send agent flowers) and she can feel someone take a picture but just doesn’t turn.   In two hours she will say hello to him.  

 Finally the music starts and soon Matt emerges through the floor, wearing nothing but underwear and there, safe in the dark, she can just ogle him and listen to that ridiculous accent – he could be anyone.  ‘You can be what I need, Matt’ she almost says aloud.  The theatre is so small and she is so close she almost thinks he’ll recognize her… but she knows what it’s like behind those footlights, the focus. He’s staring out into the balcony. 

 But then something with the lighting changes…. And he’s looking right at her section, breaking the fourth wall.  “You like…” he begins… oh, fuck… he is staring at her.  Is this supposed to happen?  Of course it’s supposed to happen … it’s commercial theatre.  No mistakes.  But he sees her. And he’s clearly startled.  “Nice tits” he manages, smiling lecherously before continuing: “You like… “ he gives the audience time to imagine what she likes and they STARE and he gestures to the set behind him  “… the painting.”  He ends with a triumphant smirk. Audience laughter.  And she can barely think.  Does he always say that? Does he really know it’s her?  The play is glorious but she’s now officially a mess. If she’s thrown him off he’ll kill her.  And was he being sarcastic about the tits? Damn.

At intermission she does not move.  Not wanting to be approached in the lobby. Also petrified.  She hopes maybe he’ll send someone down to get her. That doesn’t happen.  Shit. What was she expecting? All through the second half she imagines him fucking her like Bateman fucks – could she handle the carelessness? The disregard? Well… yes.  Her eyes never leave Matt’s body and he rarely leaves the stage.  She knows the feel of his tongue in her mouth by heart and rehearses it over and over as she’s watching, making dirty wet movements with her mouth, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. By the time they get to the curtain call she’s on her feet, truly amazed, but also hoping to beat the crowd and get backstage. 

 They stop her at the stage door. “Alex Kingston. Matt knows me. We’re friends.” “Sorry, not on tonight’s list.” The woman at the door doesn’t even recognize her. Half of the crowd waiting for autographs does.  Shit.  The worst of all possible worlds. And that’s how she finds herself, head down, in the Almeida lobby, waiting, wanting, unnerved.  Finally a hand at her shoulder. “Alex? Kingston? Mr. Smith will see you.” Oh thank GOD.

 Alex weaves through the small crowd with the man, past the ticket counter and through the stage door. Matt’s standing there, looking tired and oh so gorgeous. She hesitates for only a second before moving in. “You were… you were so fantastic, Matt,” she breathes giving him a hug. He doesn’t hug her back. “Quite a front row distraction, Alex.  Nice of you to come, though and I’m glad you enjoyed the show.” Nice?   “umm.. Matt. I’d love to take you for a drink. To catch up.  I’ve … I’ve missed you. Really missed you.”

There is no mistaking the meaning behind the words. And she lets the sounds leave her mouth slowly. She can’t even close her mouth. She brings her hand to his cheek and locks her eyes to his:

“Oh, Matt…”

 “Yeah, Alex?” he’s staring right back. “What do you want?”

 “You. Everything. Whatever, darling… God… a time machine… I want to kiss you right here…”

 “And?” And? Bateman had made Matt bolder, she thinks. She likes it. She leans in to whisper: “And take off all my clothes and keep you in that suit and tie and give you the best blowjob of your life and let you fuck me in the dressing room.”

 “Oh, Alex… I’ve waited such a long time to hear you say that. Dreamt about it, even.” He looks at her with laughing eyes and cups her breast with his hand: “yes, very nice…”  her breath hitches and she lets out a small moan.

 “Dressing room: now,” she manages.

 “Sorry love,” something behind his eyes now…  no light left…. And his hand moves now to the space between her breasts, universal sign for stopping a charge. Oh, no…  he’s touching her but she feels nothing.   “Try not to confuse the stage with real life, Alex.” His voice is bitter, his smile sweet. “We’re actors.  And I have a better offer waiting for me in the dressing room.”

 

*

 Before she can even think she lands an open palm across his face with a ringing thwack and is yelling a murderous “FUCK. You” in her distinctive and gorgeous diction loud enough to be heard in the bar area. And now both hands reach and claw for Matt, with instinctive rage hiding defeated shoulders, and he’s grabbing her by the wrists and tugging. She does not want to go and twists away from him and then it registers in her head that she looks about 6 years old and security has gathered ready to intervene. Matt whispers a sideways  “It’s cool. Fine” and pulls her now compliant form into his small dressing room.  It’s empty.

He slams the door behind her, but winces at the noise.

“Shit.  Sorry, Matt. I truly am.” She’s breathing heavily but her voice is small. “Look, that was terrible of me. It’s just… Let’s pretend this never happened.”

“Like we never met.” Matt answers dully.

 “Whatever you need, Matt. Really. I’m an idiot. And now I have actually behaved like a crazy woman. I’d appreciate it if you really could try to forget all this. Or at least never mention it.” Alex’s speech is all business and panic, but her eyes are red now, and she’s struggling. Mortified didn’t begin to cover it. She felt all of a sudden too dressed up, so much a calling card, even her perfume broadcasting her vulnerability.

 “And I’ll just forget you came to see me after all this time. Forget everything you said.” His eyes are no longer that terrible wall of cold, but she really can’t read them and doesn’t want to. His suit makes him seem gorgeously in complete control. World at his feet. Her, too. Kicked.

 “And I’ll do the same darling…” the endearment comes out unbidden and feels wrong in her mouth and she twists it slightly as if encountering a bad taste. “You’ve become a very good actor, you know.” She stops and adjusts her dress and does not dare meet his eyes. “And one of the cruelest men I’ve ever met. Congratulations on that one, by the way, quite the accomplishment.” _Shut up, Alex_. She tries to silence her will to fight but she is just so FUCKING disappointed with him. And it’s not just the dream sex she’d thought was within reach, or even the embarrassment, though she was sick with it.  sick. It was really the thudding realization that she no longer knew him.  Never had. Alex clutches her handbag impossibly hard and sets her head down to walk the three steps to the door, leaning into her destination like she’s fighting a hurricane, knees weak; air treacle.

 “Enjoy your evening, Matt. Fuck your dream girl senseless.  Have a laugh at my expense.”

 “Stop it, Alex.”

 “It’s fine, Matt. I’m used to being wrong. I’m even used to being publicly shamed.  Funny how that continues to happen. At least I know now with certainty that it is definitely me.” She looks to the middle distance. It’s like he’s vanished from the room.

 “Alex…”  Matt  grabs her wrist, returning her to the world, and his grip is impossibly soft and steady. His free hand reaches for a curl and tucks it behind her ear.

 “Don’t.” She’s staring at his shoes.

 “I would never laugh at your expense.  I really wouldn’t.” He swallows audibly and now reaches for her cheek, softly, and she pulls away as if  struck  and Matt pulls that hand back immediately and lets out a heavy breath but still keeps the other hand in a circle on her pulse. “Hey… hey… That wasn’t me.  It wasn’t.”  She risks a look up through her curls and registers him - hard and so handsome and so, so dangerous.  And he’s now blocking her exit.

 “Get out of my way, Matt.”

 “We both know that if you leave now we will never speak again.”

 “Good.”

 “I don’t want that.”

 She cocks her head and looks at him with incredulity.

 “Shit. That was half Bateman, half me-being-an-asshole.  I wanted to hurt you, Alex.  I did, ” he rushes. Alex’s eyes widen and fill and he hurries on: “But I’m sorry I succeeded.  So SORRY I did, Alex.  I wanted nothing more than to really, really hurt you and I was so happy for about a second… less than that… and then it was the worst thing I’ve ever wished. I am So sorry, Alex. So sorry that I did. That it came true.”

 She looks at him and he doesn’t look smug.  He looks scared.  His hand is still a bracelet. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

 “Shitty wish. I don’t know.  Whatever you want, Alex.  God… I _am_ a better actor… I’d rehearsed that a bit, you know, if… in case I ever had the chance to turn you down.  There were a lot of scenarios. Thing is I never ever thought it would happen.  I’ve never been over our last conversation. Not over it.”

 “Matt…”

 “Never.”

 “Your better offer…”

 “Impossible.” And with that he slinks to the floor pulling her after him by that one arm and his back is to the wall and Alex’s nearly so, sitting side-by-side, back to that dressing room wall like they’re waiting for a phantom bus, neither of them risking a sideways glance, both of them breathing audibly, steeled against pain. 

 It’s Alex who cries first. Just softly. “This is just so ridiculous. I should seriously hate you.”

 “but you don’t…” Matt’s tone is soft and hopeful.  “Here is what my time machine does – it brings us back to 15 minutes ago in the hallway and I just say yes.”

 “That can’t happen.”

 “No?”

 “No. Because I’ll always hear you saying…”  She can’t even continue and just gulps back a sob and it’s Matt’s eyes that blink hard. Then, smaller: “and I wrecked everything the first time by saying the same things to you.  I’m just as bad. There were never any better offers, Matt. Never.”

 “The reason for my biggest heartache was a lie?” He’s still staring straight ahead. “That’s an improvement, then. I guess.” Matt looks at her sideways as he says this, eyes risking hope. Alex stares him down.

 “It’s all too broken, now.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “What I said: too broken. We’ve never even had sex and we’ve already hurt each other like we’ve been together years.”

 “We have been together years.”

 “Shut up.”  

 “You know what I mean, Alex.” Then, gently: “I’m glad it happened this way.”

 Alex stiffens and makes to rise but Matt continues to hold steadily and pulls her into his side, left hand still reliably on her wrist, his other arm now risking the space by her ribs, where he can feel her shallow breathing with his fingers, and he makes them move comfortingly against her.

 “I mean it, Alex. But only because I don’t want a quick shag with you in my dressing room.” Matt  takes a deep breath and pulls her in even tighter and Alex doesn’t fight.  She’s utterly compliant … like he’s truly dissolved her.  He wills his voice to be strong and kind and hide the scared: “you don’t get to see me pretending not to care and accepting a blowjob. Though I imagine the best blowjob of my life would be a pretty good consolation prize.” He tries a smile but it doesn’t make it to his lips.

 “Consolation?”

 “Second best, Alex. But I don’t want second best with you.  

 “I can’t need you, Matt.”

 “Let’s start with want. Do you?”

 “I don’t even know.”

 “Please…” he pivots his body to face her.

 “Yes, but I hate it…”

 “Don’t” he says, lips so close to her lips now.

 “Can’t help it,” she whispers against his cheek.

 “That’s not how we work,” he says, and his lips are moving against her cheek now and he finds them damp – when had she truly been crying? Damn. So he risks everything to plant a tender kiss and she doesn’t flinch but doesn’t move and the room is impossibly still and he waits. “Alex… the way we work…” Matt struggles for words to press against her face and into her heart… “is that we know how good we’d be. We know and fuck it up but we never wish we didn’t know.”  He stretches an arm to the ground to hold his weight and moves his hips between her legs and lets her feel his erection for a long moment before he kisses her. It’s a burning kiss, wet and electric and he’s not asking permission. 

 Alex listens to his message through her own lips; lets her body flatten on the floor so Matt can fit himself along the full length of her body, so they can kiss without him unbalancing, so she can feel him hard and present and sorry and promising on top of her: her Matt, her Bateman.  His hand releases her wrist, finally satisfied that she’s not going anywhere, and now both Matt’s hands are in her hair and his kiss is extraordinary, his tongue strong and artful, making her feel like he’s already fucking her, fucking the sadness out of her, her cunt already too empty and she cries into his mouth and finally, finally, allows her own hands to fist into his shirt, pulling him to her and grinding her hips against him.

 “Want?” he pants.

 “Yes.”

 “Me, too… so fucking much. So fucking long…”

 Alex’s fingers are already on his cock, between their bodies, feeling him through the material of his suit, left hand working the button expertly and he drops his head to her neck and sucks greedily, dirtily, and thrusts himself into her palm. And then she has a thumb in the band of his pants and he can’t stop himself from pulling back from her and tearing off the pants and jacket and the damn tie and there are too many _too many_ buttons on his shirt and fuck…  “Alex…” and she pulls and rips the shirt and he shrugs it off and he’s finally naked now in front of her:  Matt.

 And he doesn’t move to take off her clothing, just rubs his fingers along the hem of her dress: “please.”

 And she pulls up her dress and holds his eyes and nods: “please” and now it’s Alex with a hand circling a wrist and she pulls it under her skirt and Matt’s fingers pull aside her underwear and he parts her folds and just stops as the warmth and reality of her registers. 

 “Yes,” he groans, sinking two fingers into her, bringing his lips to the thin material of her dress, leaving wet circles on the way to her nipples and he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he feels her finally respond, hips rocking gently. 

 Head sideways, eyes to the wall, Alex lets her body go and curbs her heart.

 “hey… hey…” Matt’s voice is coaxing even as his fingers slam deep inside and she cries out a yes, but instead he stills: “look at me.”

 “Just fuck me,” she breathes.

 With his free hand he runs a thumb along her jaw to her lips and parts them, inserts two fingers and is grateful to feel her hot tongue meet them and suck and he gently hooks his fingers into her bottom jaw and tugs her face so he can catch her eyes: “I will never just fuck you.”

 There’s been enough talking, though, and Matt gambles with his body, with his heart, and drops to his elbow and resumes finger-fucking her hard, two fingers, now three, and won’t let her eyes leave his and her cunt is responding and finally, finally, _finally_ her eyes: “there you go.”

 “Matt…” Her voice is strangled and wet and looking for more words. _Damn you,_ she thinks… “Matt” she breathes again.

 He brings both hands fast under her dress and pulls down the underwear and she spreads her legs and he lines himself up against her and nudges so so slowly, making her feel greedy and needy, making her do the asking, making her wrap her legs around his body to pull him into her and when he finally, finally sinks into her with an ‘oh fuck, baby yes’ all she can say is yes, too, _yes fuck YES_ and they fuck fast and eyelocked, then, fuck away regret, fuck like a secret, like they’ve been fucking entangled for years and her legs are on him like a vice and her crying voice makes pictures in his head that he forgets as soon as they form but they are perfect and THEM and he burst and screams and needs her to come, _needs her to come,_ and he brings his face down to hers and rubs his fingers on her clit but can’t hold off and Alex desperately brings her own hand to her clit so she can rub and scream yes some more and she breaks under him, then, breaks and sobs as she finally registers the persistent rapping on the door:  “Mr. Smith?  Mr. Smith? Wardrobe!” 

 And he has her, warm and safe.  Wanted.  He’s collapsed across her, head on her stomach now as he tries to rise to his knees and she’s trying to catch her breath and runs fingers through his short hair, thick with hairspray, her thumb along his cheek, trailing makeup.  Wanted.

 “Coming.” It’s strange to hear him.  Alex raises an eyebrow.  Matt doesn’t even get off the floor, just rolls on his side to gather his suit, opens the door a crack and thrusts an outstretched arm full of clothing through the opening.  If wardrobe wonders why the star of the show is at ankle level they don’t let on: “thank you sir – enjoy your evening. Goodnight.”

 “Goodnight.” He rolls back toward Alex and pulls her into his arms. “Time machine,” he mumbles.

 “No going back.” She tries to sound teasing, but it comes out wrong.

 And there are his eyes again, searching her, pinning her: “Never.  Time machine for This. Us. Right now: Fixed point.”

 And she can’t even talk, can barely nod, exhausted and elated and oddly unafraid, and she fits her body to his, her dress to his nakedness and kisses his eyes shut and can barely whisper a small, wet “yes.”  Inside she allows _“You, me, Islington. Fixed point. Best offer of my life.”_


End file.
